


Moving in, Moving on

by Eleanor Green (eldestmuse)



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 05:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldestmuse/pseuds/Eleanor%20Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being dead for a year, Dresden needs a place to stay.<br/>Accurate up through Ghost Story, so warning: there may be spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving in, Moving on

**Author's Note:**

> for livejournal's ravelqueen, written during the 2011 Dresden Ficathon.

The two bags fell from Dresden's hands with a thump, landing on the floor of Murphy's foyer, where there was no carpet to soften the sound of the blow. Together, they represented everything he had left in the world after he'd "died"--or come so close to it that only Demonreach and a Faerie Queen could do anything about the difference. Most of what was in the bags was magical paraphernalia he'd hidden before his death, and a few sets of clothes that had survived in the stash, or in the closets and drawers of friends he'd stayed with in the past. He was surprised but grateful that even that much remained.

He was dreading replacing his belongings. His business had been stagnant before he was dead, how was he going to support himself now? Death had a way of screwing up the records, and he hadn't thought to stash anything. If he had, it would have seemed suspicious--and he hadn't been able to afford raising suspicions.

He'd thought. It hadn't mattered in the end.

Even his home, the little basement apartment he had spent so many years in Chicago living at, had been destroyed. In its place stood the headquarters--or was it a safehouse? He couldn't be sure, not yet--of an organization Murphy and Marcone--and what an uncomfortable pair that made, almost as bad and worse in some ways, as her and Kincaid--had created. So until he could figure out something more permanent, he was staying at Murphy's.

The Carpenters had, of course, offered to let him stay with them. But he couldn't bear to be so close to his little girl, not yet, when he had Mab's fingerprints all over him and he felt too dirty to be a father. Besides, as understanding as Michael was, Dresden had trouble looking him in the eye, knowing what his demands--and his death--had done to the former Fist of God's daughter.

"The couch in the office is a pull-out," Murphy said, shaking him from his self-flagellation. "It's not great, but it'll do." She cracked a smile, small but genuine. "Even those legs of yours should fit."

"Thanks, Murph," Dresden said, a bit of sarcasm infused in his tone for all that he was sincere.

"Anytime," she answered him cheerfully. She hesitated for a moment, balancing on the balls of her feet before asking, "You hungry?"

There was an awkwardness there that hadn't been a minute before, over and above the distance a year had brought between the two. He wondered if she was putting off showing him to what would be his bedroom. The thought made his lips quirk in a bitter smile, and he said, "A little," in as noncommittal fashion as he could manage.

"What're you in the mood for?" she asked, sounding relieved. But, counter to his previous thought, she squared her shoulders slightly and led him toward her office. With a gesture, she indicated that she wanted him to help her fold out the couch there. Once that was done, she handed him the sheet that was folded up on the chair by her desk. Together, they put it on the bed, both of them trying not to feel awkward about their being a bed between them and both failing, with faint blushes on their cheeks.

Murphy's chinks were pinker, but her scowl as she struggled with the last corner dared him to make anything of it. He wasn't stupid, but he couldn't help reflecting that it figured Kincaid would take the shot _before_ he and Murphy finally hooked up, even if it had just been meant to blow off some steam. In a sick kind of way, it was inevitable. For a decade, it had been one thing after another keeping them apart--her job, his age, another relationship, another monster to distract them both--and of course his death would provide one final obstacle.

Still, he was chivalrous enough--and masochistic enough, probably--to be grateful that she hadn't been there, that day on his brother's Water Beetle. Idly, he wondered if the mercenary still would have done it, still would have taken the shot he'd been paid to make, if she'd been beside him. Would Kincaid have waited?

Probably not.

"Hey, Dresden," Murphy said, snapping her fingers in front of his nose. She had to reach up to do it, but he didn't dare comment how ridiculous she looked in her own home. Even if she did. "What do you want to eat?" The tough, impatient tone sounded incongruous coming from such a petite blonde woman, and for a brief second, the memory of how he'd seen her with his Sight flickered forward, reminding him of how right it was that she could manage such a cop sound.

"I could go for some Burger King," he said, finally. "It's been awhile."

She laughed, real and heart-felt, the full-bodied sound startling him for a moment before his lips flickered into a responding smile. "Some things never change, Dresden."

He hated to take the bright flicker out of her eyes, but his own smile disappeared. He looked around Murphy's home, the small house old, dark with time and its owner's pain, but filled with memories of generations of her family. He'd met her father--he thought, who could be sure?--and somehow that made him feel even more at home, but the taste--felt, not sensed--of the meetings and war councils tugged at the impression he'd made years ago, marring it like the in and out of the friends--to say nothing of the enemies--she'd made defending Chicago--still her city, even if she no longer wore the badge. It tore at the threshhold, too, which was no longer as strong as he remembered it, even if the brick-by-brick protections built by friendly practitioners helped make up for the lack.

"Some things do."

Her scowl came back. It should have looked ridiculous, or even cute, on her button-nosed face, but the darkness in her eyes gave it a force her features couldn't. "Don't you start."

There was a command in her voice that hadn't been there before, even when she'd been a Lieutenant with a squad of her own. But he was still Dresden, and authority was still authority, even when wielded by a friend. "I never stopped," left his mouth before he could think.

She opened her mouth to say, "Yes, you did." He could tell by the way her eyes flashed with anger before she suppressed it. But all she said was, "Get in the car. And you had better not make it break down."

"Yes ma'am," he said meekly.


End file.
